


The Talk

by ceralynn



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Loss of Virginity, M/M, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 03:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21487939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceralynn/pseuds/ceralynn
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley discuss sex. And then do more than discuss.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 272





	The Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I started this barely finishing the first half and my girlfriend egged me to write the actual sex, so if it's decent, you have her to thank. Enjoy!

"So when did you find out about it?"

"Find out about what?"

"Sex."

They're sitting in the bookshop when it comes up. Or well, it doesn't so much as come up as Crowley brings it up, and Aziraphale all but chokes on his cocoa trying to formulate a response. 

"Oh— I mean, a long time ago," he manages. "Before I got sent to Earth. There was a meeting about it. A presentation. All the angels were made aware."

"Really? Fifty million angels all in one board room educating each other about how humans fuck?"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's fingers clench around the handle of his mug, he fights a blush. "Good lord. It wasn't as crass as all that. It was educational! We learned about human biology, reproductive organs, their healthy function, and... what the, er, end result of successful copulation was." 

Crowley makes a low sound in his throat, leans back in his chair.

"Shame."

"..you think so?"

"Shame if your whole concept of sex has been 'copulation' all these years."

Aziraphale turns another shade of red.

"That is not my only conception of sex," he almost pouts. "I've been wandering around Earth just as long as you have. Met humans, befriended them. Heard things."

"Really? How knowledgeable are you, then?"

Aziraphale hesitates. "Not that knowledgeable."

"Oh, come on, Angel, you can't be a prude and a slut at the same time." He shifts in his chair until both his feet are on the floor. "There's no shame it. Not most of it, anyway. Some humans can get a bit out there for my taste. And I mean 'taste', literally. You ever heard of vore, Angel?"

"No, I haven't heard of—" Aziraphale cuts himself off with a sigh. "Why are we even having this conversation?"

"Ever wanted to try it?"

Faintly, Aziraphale is proud of himself for not dropping his mug in shock. 

"Of course not," he says, sets the mug safely away on an end table. "Are you mad? Who am I going to try it with, a human? So I can truly lose control, show my wings, _ or worse _? And God forbid, if Heaven ever found out—"

"So you have thought about it."

"I've just been telling you that I haven't—"

"You've thought enough to know the consequences."

Aziraphale frowns, silent, because he's right. And he was right earlier, he can be slut or a prude but not both. Slut isn't quite the word though; slut implies experience Aziraphale has woefully denied himself.

"So I've thought about it," he admits. "So what? It won't come to anything, I've got no one to try it with."

"I'm right here."

Aziraphale is rendered silent again. The presentation hadn't been wholly clinical. The angels had been told, being creatures of love, that this was a loving act, the energy from which they were bound to feel from time to time. And oh, had he felt it. At first it felt terribly awkward, almost wrong, like being some unconsenting voyeur, but soon enough, he got used to it. Even learned to enjoy it. 

It was similar each time he felt it, but never quite the same. Some love was delicate and new, some deep with passions that could only have been honed over time, some so fierce it left him dizzy, though thankfully those were rare. But all felt like love, in some form or another.

It was what had made him so curious in the first place.

It was what made him unwilling to try it with a human. To try it with anyone but the person, the being that he loved.

But he never imagined he'd get lucky enough to have the opportunity, let alone to have it offered in a tone so maddeningly casual.

"Still with me, Angel?"

Aziraphale nods. 

"Really? That's something you'd.. really like to do? With me?"

"Well I don't know about you, Angel," he responds. "But I've tried just about every other damn thing humans can get up to. Again, within reason. Remind me to explain to you what vore is."

Aziraphale reminds himself to forget. "You don't think there would be consequences?"

Crowley pulls a face, then a noise. "Not worse than what we'd get for what we're already guilty of. We use the same excuse we always have. Me tempting you, you thwarting me. You'll get some odd looks spinning a shag into a thwarting, but you know, our word against theirs.

Aziraphale nods, considers his next question carefully. Crowley waits.

"You don't think I'd...?"

Aziraphale trails off, gesturing vaguely toward the sky, then points back down to Earth. When Crowley only squints at this, he whispers an explanation. 

"_ Fall _."

Crowley frowns, an almost weary sigh escaping him before he's vaulting out of the chair, crossing the short distance between himself and the angel. He takes one of Aziraphale's hands in both of his own, gets down on one knee before him. Aziraphale's ears burn.

"Angel, if I fuck you so badly you lose faith in the Almighty, I promise you, your very last act as an angel can be smiting me yourself."

Aziraphale scoffs, seeing the humour in it but not wanting to. Comforted despite wanting to chide Crowley for being insensitive. Because that's not what he's being. 

He's comforted by how well Crowley knows him.

"What did I tell you? Six thousand years ago?" He brings a hand up to Aziraphale's face, fingers curled under his chin. "You're an angel. You can't do the wrong thing. If this feels wrong, we won't do it. No hard feelings, I mean it. But if not..."

Crowley trails off, uninsistent. Patient. And when Aziraphale responds, it isn't with words. He closes the remaining distance between them and pressing a kiss to the demon's lips.

He wonders if he should tell Crowley that this is a first for him, too. He pulls away, silently hopes that the blush he's earned is an indication this is Crowley's first kiss as well.

"So?"

Aziraphale smiles. "Nothing would make me happier."

Crowley matches the smile and the sentiment, and in one swift motion he wraps an arm around Aziraphale, hooks the other under his legs and scoops him up off his seat and into the demon's arms. Aziraphale's gasp turns into a giggle as Crowley starts moving them upstairs. 

"What? Got to carry you over the threshold and all that. Make it official."

"I believe that's marriage, darling."

"Six of one. Either way, I'm not putting you down."

"Promise?"

Crowley only laughs.

\--

When they get to the bedroom, there's more kissing where that came from. So much that at points Crowley wonders about their corporations needing to breathe before he remembers they don't. He lays Aziraphale down, tumbling onto him, the angel's thighs parting to catch his fall. He breaks the kiss only to press a smattering to the line of angel's jaw, his neck, the noises he elicits urging him on until they're interrupted by words.

"You know, dear, you didn't answer my question."

Crowely flinches and pulls away, suddenly terrified he's ignored a request, crossed a boundary without meaning to. A warm smile tells him it's nothing so serious. 

"I asked if you not putting me down was a promise," he says, laughs a bit. "Of course, if it was, technically you've broken it, but I'd be willing to forgive it if you simply picked me up again. You know, when the time comes."

Crowley digs his nails into the angel's hip to keep from mewling. He lets his hips grind into Aziraphale like he's wanted since they got in this position.

"I've got a few unanswered questions myself," he smirks. "Just how knowledgeable are you, Angel? And please, don't be shy."

Crowley takes to his neck again and Aziraphale brings a hand up to tangle in his hair encouragingly.

"Not too much, but I was part of a club in Portland Place. A gentlemen's club."

Crowley pulls away at this, the yellow of his eyes a ring around pupils. 

"Don't give me that look," Aziraphale says, though smiling. "Didn't I tell you, I wouldn't with a human? But I heard things. These men weren't exactly withdrawn." 

"Weren't they. So what'd you learn?"

"Oh, many things. Analingus, fingering, did you know, some men get off on just another man coming down their throat?"

Crowley bites back the urge to mention vore again. "I see. And listening to all these stories, where have you pictured yourself?"

Aziraphale falters, thinks back, imagines. He can hear clear as day the voices of the gentlemen, so many overlapping in his mind, every conquest, every casual encounter, every story they'd told just of what they'd wanted to do to someone they'd been denied the opportunity. He felt something happening at the hips of his corporation, an effort he hadn't consciously authorised but one forming under the rut of Crowley's hips all the same. 

Crowley's laugh pulls him out of it, and he makes an effort to him to feign offense. 

"They've got a word for this in lesbian communities," the demon laughs. "Pillow princess."

Aziraphale wants, desperately, to be offended but the idea of Crowley being close enough to that community to service this effort as it truly deserves shuts him up, leaves him only staring as Crowley undoes the button and zipper of his trousers, tugs them down and throws them aside, his mouth finally, blissfully connecting with Aziraphale's throbbing sex. The noise that leaves him is equal parts loud and breathless, and his hand is buried in Crowley's hair before he can stop himself. Crowley pulls away, his hand clutching Aziraphale's wrist and settling it so gently back down on the mattress.

"No, no, no, my pillow principality," he relishes his love's grin at the pun. "No work for you, darling. You just sit back and let me show you what I can show you. Feedback welcome, but when you do come, I wanna be the only credit on it. Fair?"

The angel gives a faint nod and then he's back to work, Aziraphale strangling screams that leave his throat regardless. Crowley's tongue moves over him, whips around him, tucks inside him when he wants to, the fork of it wisping over his clit with every pass. Aziraphale can barely see when he opens his eyes, but he squirms away, taps what of Crowley's arm he can reach. He wants more, needs more.

"I want you to fuck me."

The words leave his mouth in a blur, and he drags Crowly down into another kiss, another soft whimper leaving him when he tastes himself there.

"Please," he looks at Crowley like there'd be any another option. Like Crowley hasn't been dreaming about this for all of their existence. Crowley doesn't mind his mewling this time.

Another perfect, wonderful, impeccable gasp leaves Aziraphale as Crowley enters him; his head lays flush against multiple pillows and Crowley leans down, presses kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. A low groan leaves him when he's flush inside the angel, and he looks down, marvels at the way the pink of his skin brings out the blue of his eyes. 

"You're perfect, do you know that?" Crowley breathes, pulls away and starts fucking into his angel, gasps at the reality of it all. "A-absolutely— fuck, Aziraphale, _ Jesus _."

Aziraphale presses back against the thrusts, holding back screams in his own right. 

"You feel so good," Aziraphale sighs, legs clamping around his love's hips like a vice. "Darling, don't stop,_ don't _ stop—"

"Never," he hisses. The nails in his hips deepen and Crowley can feel himself coming up on his own orgasm already. Not that he wants to. He wants this to last all night, wants to press this on for the rest of eternity, wants to fuck Aziraphale so good, so hard, that he can't walk for the next week.

It's that idea that spurns him on. 

One hand falls to the mattress below them, scrambling for purchase, the other digging into Aziraphale's hip and lifting him up, as much as he can, the angel's whimpers under him egging him on.

"Not exactly picking you up," he pants against his angel's ear. "But it's something. God, you're something,_ God _, you're— Angel—!"

Crowley's release inside him spurs Aziraphale on, hips milking every last wave out of him, and by the time it's over, the angel can only see in shapes. He feels Crowley pull out of him a short eternity later, feels the demon wrapping limbs around him. Feels certain limbs turn decidedly snake-like, brings a hand down to stroke those parts. 

"So, darling," Crowley's voice tickles his ear, and he can't help but smile. "How was your first time then? Everything you hoped for?"

Aziraphale only smiles, snuggles closer, relishes the line of Crowley's nose against his cheek.

"Absolutely," he grins, turning just enough to press a kiss to the demon's lips. "And you, dearest?"

Crowley laughs, presses his forehead to the angel's.

"Everything and more."

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley loving to watch Aziraphale eat is lowkey a vore fetish. You can't change my mind.


End file.
